


love is anything you wanna make it

by SyntheticRevenge



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Asexual Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Consensual Compulsion, Dumbasses Navigate Feelings, Fluff, M/M, Non-Sexual Intimacy, Set in Episodes 159-160 | Scottish Safehouse Period (The Magnus Archives), Trans Martin Blackwood, Unexplicit discussion of tame sexual fantasies, showering together
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-31
Updated: 2020-07-31
Packaged: 2021-03-05 19:28:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,473
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25630591
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SyntheticRevenge/pseuds/SyntheticRevenge
Summary: They’re in the middle of an almost dead-silent and incredibly tight Scrabble game when Jon bites his lip, looks up at Martin, and says “You know, you can sleep with other people if you want.”Martin has a hard time not spitting out the sip of tea he just took. He swallows it down and raises his eyebrows at Jon. “Sorry, what?”
Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist
Comments: 14
Kudos: 382





	love is anything you wanna make it

**Author's Note:**

> Hiiiii! Okay, so I really...I'm pretty attached to this one. It's technically two different safehouse fics I wanted to write smushed into one, but I have Big Feelings. I hope it works and y'all enjoy it! The title's from I Wrote It Down For You by Bad Books, yet another song off my jonmartin playlist.

They’re in the middle of an almost dead-silent and incredibly tight Scrabble game when Jon bites his lip, looks up at Martin, and says “You know, you can sleep with other people if you want.”

Martin has a hard time not spitting out the sip of tea he just took. He swallows it down and raises his eyebrows at Jon. “Sorry,  _ what _ ?”

“I just--I don’t want our relationship to be unfair to you,” Jon says, eyes locking with Martin’s, shrugging his shoulder up to his ear. “I want you to be happy and--fulfilled? I guess? And if you need--”

“Wh--what do you think people are  _ like _ , Jon?” Martin asks, laughing nervously and pushing his glasses up. “You think if we don’t senselessly fuck each other we go mad? I mean…”

Jon flushes a little and looks away, mumbling something along the lines of “Justwantyoutobehappy.”

“I  _ am _ happy,” Martin says. “Hey--hey, look at me. Look at me.” Jon sighs through his nose and meets Martin’s eyes again. “I’m happier than I’ve been, like... _ ever _ . I know that’s bad to say, considering everything, but, well, it’s true.”

“Doesn’t mean it couldn’t--”

“Jon, seriously,” Martin says. He reaches over the board, knocking a few tiles over, which elicits a pained yelp from Jon, and puts his hand over Jon’s, maintaining eye contact. “I’m a big boy and I can take care of myself. Okay?”

“Does that mean--”

“I don’t know how badly I want to have  _ this _ conversation, but yes, Jon, yes, I--uh--that, yeah,” Martin says, blushing slightly. “So. I’m alright.”

Jon nods, looking lost in thought. His eyes drift off Martin and his expression shifts, slightly, the corner of his mouth twitching into a look Martin’s not sure he’s ever seen before. “Do you...do you think about me when you--”

“ _ Oh god _ ,” Martin blurts, before he can stop himself, because he desperately wants Jon to not finish that question. 

“You don’t have to tell me,” Jon says, pulling his hand out from under Martin’s and running it back through his hair.

“I mean, do you--do you  _ want _ me to?” Martin asks. “I don’t want to make you uncomfortable, or--or--”

“I want to know.”

“Of course you do,” Martin says, shaking his head. “Uh. Yes. Yes, Jon, I think about you. I...have for...years, though, I guess I’m probably not supposed to--uh. Yeah.”

“What do you think of?” Jon asks, voice low and mildly hoarse, elbow up on the table, chin in his hand. He’s doing this on purpose. He has to be.

“I--I don’t know, I think about your--your hands, and--your voice, and--uh--” Martin squeaks, shrugging, trying to keep it unexplicit, unsure of how far he’s allowed to go, how much is  _ too much _ .

“I gathered those would be part of it, yes, but what do I  _ do _ with my hands and my voice?” Jon asks, and he’s smirking now, fully aware of and visibly  _ enjoying _ making Martin sweat like this.

“You, uh, you...you touch me,” Martin says, voice small, now desperately avoiding eye contact. “I don’t know!”

“Martin,” Jon says, an edge of amusement in his voice, still smirking wickedly. “Come on, now, I’m an adult, I can handle it.”

“Why! What do you get out of it!” Martin says, throwing his hands up. Jon’s eyes widen and his smirk fades.

“Sorry,” he says, sounding genuinely startled. “I...sorry, I thought--I sort of enjoy the idea that even though we can’t-- _ I _ can’t--that it would be nice to know how you imagine me--what you imagine doing with me?”

“Oh,” Martin says. “No, that’s...um. I can...if you’re sure, I can…but you might need to, uh...to make me? Because I’m...uh...yeah.”

“I’m sure,” Jon says. “Tell me what you’d want me to do.”

The words carry magnetic weight, and Martin can’t help but speak, and it’s certainly a strange use of compulsion but it stirs something in Martin, being forced to talk about things he used to feel shameful even thinking about. He sort of likes it, being able to let go, not even having a  _ choice _ .

“You have really--really nice fingers,” Martin starts, sort of idiotically, the first few drips as the compulsion twists the tap on and waits for the words to come flooding out. “I want you to--to stroke my hair and run your fingers down my chest and kiss my neck, and--”

“Martin, I do all that already,” Jon says. 

“--and then you...you touch me, uh, you know, and--and you say my name, all low and stern and bitchy like you used to and bite my earlobe and--um--and--”

“You were too nervous to tell me you want to have completely regular sex with me?” Jon asks, visibly trying to suppress a smile, chin twitching slightly. 

Martin’s barriers break under the weight of the compulsion. “ _ No _ , it’s not exactly regular, though, because you have such strong fingers and you’re gentle but there’s a weight to you, you push into me like you know you can’t break me. You bite, but not hard enough to draw blood--sometimes you put your hand around my neck but you never squeeze, it’s just a reminder, just--you know I can handle you, you know I can handle anything, no one else ever treats me like I can handle things, and it’s  _ hot _ . You fuck me like you see my soul, and that’s--it’s--” 

He takes a shuddering breath, the compulsion lifting enough for him to become acutely aware of the fact that he’s turning himself on talking about it. Jon’s staring into him, eyes hungry, half-smiling. 

“I’m glad it works for you,” Jon says, voice low again, and fuck him, he’s doing that on purpose, just to make it  _ worse _ , and the deathblow is when he adds a “ _ Mar _ tin” like they’re four years less fucked up and in love and Martin’s just spilled tea on something.

Martin quickly presses a hand over his mouth to stop himself making some horrifically embarrassing gasping, moaning sound and takes several deep breaths before he drops it. “Uh. Wow. So, I can’t ever speak to you again.”

“Martin...I was expecting you to come out with something  _ kinky _ ,” Jon says, laughing. “You have nothing to be ashamed of--not that you would even if it were. Kinky, I mean. I’m just glad thinking of me can...can, uh...get you...there? I’m horrid at euphemisms. I’m sorry.”

“I have completely vanilla fantasies and you can’t even say the words ‘make you come’,” Martin says, solemnly nodding. “Maybe we were meant for each other.”

“Oh, I  _ definitely _ think we were meant for each other,” Jon says, and smiles in such a way that Martin can feel his heart overflow with love and shatter. 

“Do you...um,” Martin starts, then sighs, cutting himself off, unsure of how to ask the question. Not all of his fantasies about Jon are sexual. Most of them aren’t. Weren’t. He used to just imagine Jon smiling at him, saying his name softly, laying his head on his shoulder watching a movie, kissing his cheek. He has one now, though, now that they’re together, and it’s...he doesn’t know how to ask.

“Yes?”

“Never mind,” Martin says, shrugging. 

“Martin…” Jon says, voice dancing. 

“D’you want to shower? Together?” Martin asks, blushing hard again, staring at the table. “Just--I mean, not sexually, obviously, just...just to...you know?”

“Yes,” Jon says, softly. “Sure. That sounds lovely.”

In practice, it’s not quite as lovely as it could be, since the shower in the cabin is tiny and they’re pressed close together, and the water doesn’t ever really get  _ hot _ , just barely pleasantly warm, but Martin can’t stop smiling anyway. He washes Jon’s hair, spends a long time winding it in his fingers and pressing hard into Jon’s scalp because it makes him take a sharp, pleased breath every time, and the sound nearly winds Martin with affection.

When he’s finished, Jon turns to face him, chin more or less resting perfectly on Martin’s sternum, nose brushing the underside of Martin’s chin. He runs the fingers on his burnt hand over Martin’s top surgery scars, eyes closed, just feeling, like he’s reading Martin like braille. Martin takes his other hand, wraps the other arm around his back and sways him, gently, side to side, and Jon laughs softly and turns his head, cheek resting against Martin’s chest.

“I love you,” Jon says, softly, slowly, and Martin has to try really hard to keep the joyful sob he feels exploding from his chest in so he doesn’t startle or disturb Jon.

“I love you too,” Martin breathes, finally. “So much.”

“We should do this again,” Jon says. 

“Yes. Please.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading <3 All feedback is really appreciated!  
> You can find me on tumblr @witnesstotheend


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